


Downtime is Our Time

by silentdescant



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>24 - Bob/Frank: being domestic on the bus (possibly this is a source of amusement for the others; naturally they don't give a fuck)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downtime is Our Time

**Author's Note:**

> this is for curtainfic, and thank you to maryangel200 for both organizing the challenge and looking this fic over. :)

Bob generally woke up without any drama. No flailing arms (Gerard), no falling out of bed (Mikey), no groaning (Ray), and no burrowing deeper into the blankets (Frank). He just opened his eyes, and he was awake. Then when he nudged Frank’s arm, Frank started burrowing, pulling the sheets up over his ears and rubbing his nose on the pillow. Bob kissed his forehead, the only part of him still visible, and rolled out of the bunk.

He yawned widely and rubbed his eyes. Gerard was out in the lounge, zoning out by staring at the wall. Either he was thinking about something or he was just sleep-deprived and bored. Bob mumbled a good morning, which Gerard didn’t return, and pulled his and Frank’s mugs out of the cabinet.

“You never make me coffee,” Gerard said longingly, and Bob turned around to find him staring down at his—presumably empty—cup.

“You don’t give me blowjobs,” Bob replied, then covered his mouth with his sleeve as he yawned again. It was cold outside his and Frank’s bunk, and he was glad he was wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. Gerard was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, which meant either he hadn’t slept at all, or he’d been up a really long time.

Gerard pouted and raised his eyebrows at Bob. “Well, I _could_ —”

“No, you can’t!” Frank shouted from the bunk. Bob grinned.

“Make your own damn coffee,” he said.

Frank made grabby hands for his mug when Bob pulled back their curtain. He tasted his own, then reached for Bob’s, but Bob lifted it up out of his reach.

“I know yours has more sugar,” he said.

“Executive decision: you don’t need more sugar.” He gave Frank both mugs and motioned for him to scoot over.

“How come I’m always against the fucking wall?” Frank grumbled, holding the coffees level while Bob climbed in.

“Because you don’t wake up early.” Bob snatched his mug back.

“I _could_ wake up early.”

“You want me to stop making you coffee every morning?”

Frank took a careful sip from his mug, cradling it in both hands. He breathed in deeply and Bob watched the shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks. “I’ll stay by the wall.”

“Thought so,” Bob replied, grinning. Frank burrowed down into the blankets again, holding his hot mug carefully. Bob put his arm behind Frank’s shoulders and waited for Frank to burrow against him.

“You’re warm,” Frank said sleepily.

“You’d be warm too if you wore more than boxers to bed.”

Frank slid one leg up and over Bob’s thighs, hooking his ankle around Bob’s knee. “I thought you liked me naked,” he purred. Bob took the mug out of his hands. “I want that,” Frank protested.

“You’re going to spill boiling coffee all over me.”

“That happened _once_ , okay, you need to chill the fuck out.”

“You,” Bob said, pointing a finger at Frank, “are not a good multitasker. Snuggling or coffee, pick one.”

Frank rubbed his nose on Bob’s hoodie and threw his arm over Bob’s chest, gripping tight. “You’re mean,” he muttered, his voice muffled by fabric.

“But I’m snuggly,” Bob pointed out with a satisfied grin.

***

Frank liked to keep Gerard company while he sketched out ideas for his comic; Gerard needed someone to bounce ideas off of, and Frank loved being that person. It usually meant he was up way later than Bob, though, so sometimes he sat out on the couch with them, just to be close to Frank.

He stretched out along the back of the couch with Frank pressed against him, and he had one arm curled around Frank’s torso to keep him on. Gerard sat across from them with a sketchbook in his lap. He wasn’t talking much, so Frank had picked up a novel and was reading with it propped up against a pillow. Bob moved his hand in little circles on top of Frank’s t-shirt and breathed against Frank’s neck, bored and sleepy.

The soft scratching of Gerard’s pencil and Frank occasionally flipping a page in his book lulled Bob into a doze. He lifted his hand to Frank’s hip, so it wouldn’t look like he was groping his boyfriend out on the couch (even though Gerard totally got away with that; it wasn’t fair, because Frank wasn’t even Gerard’s boyfriend), and Frank pressed back against him with a little, quiet noise that Bob didn’t know how to interpret. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in Frank’s hair.

He wasn’t quite sleeping, so he noticed when Frank yawned and shifted enough to dislodge Bob’s hand from its precarious perch on his hip. Bob’s fingers skimmed the lower part of Frank’s stomach, where his shirt had ridden up, and Frank squirmed downward, so that Bob’s hand hitched his shirt up higher.

“What,” Bob mumbled, and Frank didn’t reply. He just hooked his ankle around Bob’s calf and adjusted his book.

Bob took the hint and flattened his palm to Frank’s skin. He traced where he imagined Frank’s tattoos were; he knew Frank’s body pretty well, and he used his belly button to orient himself.

“Mm,” Frank murmured back, encouraging and quiet. Bob breathed out and ruffled the hair on the back of Frank’s neck. He could feel the shiver run through Frank’s body, and how the muscles in his stomach tensed as it passed. Bob grinned.

“Just keep…” Frank whispered. Gerard’s pencil was still scratching wildly on his paper, so Bob assumed they weren’t being too inappropriate. He was just touching Frank’s chest, after all, and Frank was even wearing a shirt.

The pages of Frank’s book turned slower than before. Either Frank was getting tired, or Bob was distracting him. He wanted to distract Frank. His hand was creeping steadily upwards, hiking Frank’s shirt up higher on his torso, but Bob abandoned that plan and moved lower instead. He dipped his fingertips beneath Frank’s waistband and curved his palm around Frank’s hip, like he had before, but under Frank’s clothes this time.

“Bob,” Frank breathed. He twisted halfway around, so Bob could see his profile, and reached back and laid his arm on top of Bob’s. He touched the back of Bob’s hand but didn’t try to move him. Bob kissed the corner of Frank’s jaw; it was one of his favorite places to kiss, and it just happened to be near his mouth already. He kissed the upturned quirk of Frank’s lips next.

“I love you,” Bob whispered, quiet enough that Gerard probably couldn’t hear him. Frank’s smile widened; Bob didn’t say it out loud that often, and he didn’t want to. He liked seeing Frank grin helplessly, liked the effect his words had. Frank knew Bob loved him, anyway.

“Bob Bryar’s a _sap_ ,” Frank said, definitely loud enough for Gerard’s ears. Bob didn’t miss the muffled chuckle from the other chair. Bob pinched Frank’s side and he giggled.

“Stop,” Frank said, batting his hand down. “Touch me again, I like that.”

“I know.”

“Oh shut up, you’re disgusting,” Gerard groaned.

He disentangled himself from Frank’s clothes and raised his middle finger in Gerard’s general direction.

Frank turned over so his back was to Bob again and asked Gerard, “Are you getting anything done over there?”

Bob was too sleepy and comfortable to actually get embarrassed, so he just slid his fingers under Frank’s waistband again, settling them at the crease of Frank’s thigh. Frank squirmed and curled his toes; Bob could feel them against his calf.

“Yeah,” Gerard answered.

Bob rubbed his nose against Frank’s hair again and closed his eyes. Any minute now, Frank would sit up and start talking to Gerard about his crazy stories.

But Gerard just ripped a page out of his sketchbook and handed it to Frank, then disappeared. Frank rolled onto his back and Bob rearranged his limbs to accommodate him.

“Hey, Bob,” he murmured. “Look at this.”

Bob reluctantly opened his eyes. Frank held up the drawing paper, and Bob recognized pieces of the images instantly. There was a detailed study of his hand and the way Frank’s shirt wrinkled and bunched around it, and Frank’s tattoos were drawn carefully too. The rest of their bodies were more suggestive lines than actual renderings, except for the soft line of Frank’s mouth, curved up in a smile, peeking out from behind his book.

Across the top of the drawing, Gerard’s loopy scrawl read _You’re too cute, I couldn’t resist_.

Bob pecked Frank on the cheek, and Frank grinned again. He turned his head to meet Bob’s lips, and when they parted, Frank whispered, “I love you too, you know.”

“Yeah,” Bob answered, wrapping an arm and a leg around Frank. “I know.”

  
 _fin_.


End file.
